People requested that Dean find out. I didn't necessarily want him to save the day, but he definitely made it better. This was hard to write in 200 words, so I was a little looser with the word requirement.

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The (Pumpkin) Patch

For Winchesters, every day was Halloween, a lifetime of scamming and tricking.

Sam loathed it, because of the looming anniversaries, old pain becoming fresh. He was haunted by the memory: the stench of booze on his father's breath, the hateful flash in his eyes, the gruff loss in his voice. John was gone now, and Sam wanted to think about the good times, but Halloween—pumpkins—seemed to dredge up the bad.

Thunder rumbled impatiently overhead as he followed Dean through the woods. The air was ripe with the odor of pumpkins, and it made Sam nauseous. Dean, oblivious, unwrapped discounted candy with childish glee. He pelted Sam with one. "Reese's for your thoughts."

Sam humored him. "Jus' hate Halloween."

"I've noticed. What happened, though? One year, you trick-o-treated the entire county; the next you were Broody McAngsty."

He hesitated and relented. "Dad came back from the demon hunt—drunk and scary—and and he blamed me for Mom."

"God, Sammy. I'm…that's so sick," Dean seethed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

" do you blame me?"

Dean scoffed as if he was disgusted by the very question. He slung an arm around broad shoulders. "Never, Sammy." The tone was light, but Sam heard the intense conviction in it.

With Dean's approval, he could let it go, forgive his father.

They broke through the treeline, into a manicured field. Sam and Dean both stared in bewilderment at hundreds of pristine rows of pumpkins. "Sonuvabitch," they cursed.